


I'll Do it Myself

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Monsters, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Joyce acts without thinking, Jim comes to the rescue of his hard-headed lady love. Based on a tumblr prompt from diamondpawprints.





	I'll Do it Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diamondpawprints](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondpawprints/gifts).



 

“I thought we were in a fight, Joyce.”

“We are.”

Joyce hoped he could conjure up the image of her, mouth pressed in a thin line, one hand on her hip, one foot tapping impatiently as she held the phone to her ear. There was no mistaking the frustrated groan on the other end of the line.

“Then why are you calling me at ten at night?”

Joyce felt a heat run up her spine and settle in her ears. It was a Saturday, no one was in bed on a Saturday. Unless… her stomach twisted at the unwelcome thought.

“Am I interrupting something?” she inquired, hoping to sound indifferent, despite the increase of volume and pitch in her tone. 

“Is something wrong?” he was ignoring her question and cutting to the chase. She was both infuriated and grateful - for a moment, she had lost track of the reason for her call.

“There’s something in the shed. I thought your boss closed the gate.”

She heard a shuffling on the other end, like he was rising to his feet. She couldn’t mistake the sound of bedsprings squeaking. 

“Not my bo- look, nevermind - what is going on with the shed? Did you go inside?”

Joyce moved to the window facing the backyard, one hand grasping the taut telephone cord like a anchoring lifeline. A faint shriek erupted from the shed along with the sound of metal hitting against metal as tools were undoubtedly upended from within. Joyce let out a smothered cry and squatted quickly so she could be out of sight of the window.

“Joyce, are you okay? Joyce! I will be there in a moment, don’t do anything stupid!”

Jim sounded frantic. She could hear the sound of clothing being hastily gathered, and also a soft, feminine voice raised in inquiry. 

“No, you stay put,” Joyce replied, softening her tone to banish the wounded edge. 

“Are you serious? Ten minutes. I will be there to check it out in ten minutes.”

“I don’t need you. I’ll do it myself.” She slammed the phone onto its base, ignoring Jim’s panicked pleas.

Five minutes later, Joyce stepped into the backyard with one of Lonnie’s old butterfly knives in the back pocket of her jeans, a lighter in one hand, and a bottle of hairspray in the other. She hoped whatever-it-was couldn’t hear her heart pounding, because she could feel it reverberating in her ears as she breathed through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, just like her therapist taught her. 

“Mama said there’ll be days like this, there’ll be days like this mama said…” Joyce sung tunelessly under her breath as she drew near to the shed and the commotion within. Whatever was inside was causing the shed to rock slightly with each thunderous crash. “Fuck…”

Joyce paused at the door, taking in the inhuman shrieks and the crashing sounds. Whatever it was, it was definitely trapped. She felt a momentary wave of sympathy tugging at her chest, halting her progress - or was that the fear? It could definitely be a little from column A and B. 

“Oh goddamn it, goddamn it, goddamn it,” she cursed before pulling the door open and ducking to one side of the shed. 

The noise was gone, but she hadn’t witnessed a single thing emerge from the shed. She stepped in front of the door and peered inside. It was chaos, tools scattered everywhere, scratches and dents on the walls - the shotgun was still in its original place. Despite the evidence of there being something in the space, there was nothing to be seen. Joyce stepped forward, placed the lighter and the hairspray onto the workbench and took the shotgun into her trembling hands. 

That’s when she heard it. The low, guttural growl that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. She turned just in time to catch a flash of pale white and gray as a claw slashed through the air and caught her in the abdomen and sent her sprawling onto her back. Her whole body seemed to singe and smolder, starting at the fresh wound near her ribs, the pain causing tears to burn at her eyes as she tried to focus on the small, pale humanoid that stood above her. 

Its mouth was an angry red gash with needle-like teeth, and its eye sockets were oblong, black and empty as it screamed and hit blindly at the air around it. Joyce took cocked the shotgun and took aim…

Its head exploded in a red-and-green viscera confetti before before Joyce could even pull the trigger. It collapsed on top of her and she let out a raw, terrified scream at the feel of its weight against her, its blood (?) pouring over her neck and face. 

“Goddamn it, Joyce, I told you to wait!” Jim Hopper thundered, kicking the corpse off of her body and pulling her to her feet. She winced at the motion, and covered her bleeding abdomen with her hand. “It got you.”

“It got me,” she echoed through her teeth, protesting feebly as Jim unbuttoned her blouse with gentle fingers. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he pushed the fabric off of her shoulders and took in the wound. “Is it bad?” she asked fearfully, her teeth beginning to chatter as she stood in front of him in her blood-stained bra.

“It’s not very deep, thank God. It’s big, though, and it might leave a mark. You are so fucking hard-headed, Joyce, why did you do that?” He looked around until he spotted an upended first aid kit on the floor near the workbench. He scooped it up and rifled through the contents before he found bandages and alcohol pads. 

“You seemed busy. I wanted to save you a trip.”

Jim knelt and began to clean the wound, eliciting a pained hiss from Joyce. He made a tender shushing noise and placed a soothing hand on her side, stroking the bare flesh in a reassuring motion. “I wasn’t.”

“No visitors?”

Jim looked up at her with a confused scowl. “No. I was enjoying my new TV; I installed it in the bedroom. Mary Tyler Moore was on.”

Joyce bit her lip and looked away. She felt foolish, but still angry and more than a little jealous, despite assurances that there was nothing to be jealous about. 

“What, did you think I had a lady over?”

She wasn’t prepared to dignify that with a response. Nor was she prepared to deal with the deep, rich laughter that started in his chest and filled the room as he finished bandaging her up. 

“Oh, fuck you.”

He rose to his feet and carefully took her into his arms, stopping short of pulling her flush against him. She tried to back away as his lips pressed against her forehead, but he made a soft, teasing noise of protest. “Joyce, Joyce, Joyce…”

“I hate you.” She pushed against his chest, but didn’t pull away when his hands came up to cup her face.

“Your hair’s messed up, Joyce. Let me fix it,” he murmured tenderly as he stroked the thick, wavy locks and brushed his lips against hers. 


End file.
